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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 16, 1915)
mi mi im if MARY MIDTHORNE 1) GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON. Author of “Oraustark," “Truxton King,” etc. Copyright, 1M1, By Dodd, Mead A Co. JJ ' till llll 1111 \^) CHAPTER XVH.—Continued. And so they waited until the warmth eras In them all, until the heart beats •were strong and free. At last Mr. Blagden spoke. His voice was low and full of gentleness. "Of course, X can’t think of asking you to leave a cheery, delightful nest like this for that cold, barren place I call home,” hfj*-yr.id wistfully. "It's not to be thought /a'We—your aunt and I —were selfish as to hope you might conic back If I were eloquent enough to-- But. of course, we couldn't have known how nicely you are situated here. Thlu^'ttle room Is more eloquent than I coUid ever hope to be. It l*.«.n argument that I cannot meet.” His bony fingers suddenly gripped the arms of the chair. "But. God help me! I can't begin to tell i ou how bleak and cold and dead out rooms are—how great the contrast. Ah, my children, you have all the light We have none, lour Aunt Rena Is—” Again he stop ped short, visibly moved. They Instinctively felt that their aunt wbb In even greater anguish than the ambassador who found It so dif ficult to state his mission In plain terms. "Is Aunt Rena 111?” asked Eric, with the desire to make It easy for him to go on. "If she Is HI—If she wants us, Uncle Horace, we will go to her at once," ad ded Mary, after a quick look Into her brother’s eyes. Horace’s face brightened. "You will?” be cried eagerly. "It is very good of yot»—very. I can't tell you how much good It will do her to—to see you again. Of course—” he hesitated once more— "of course, her heart is set on having ■you back there to—to stay.” Another protracted period of silence. Horace appeared to be reading their thoughts, for it was he who broke the blence. "She Is 111,” he broke out despairing ly. "Not physically 111, but mentally. Her soul Is sick. She—she seems worse tjht than ever before. A dream—a Id dream this afternoon has upset terribly. She refuses to go to bed rht, fearing a repetition. I am un ed. I couldn't endure It any longer. tour hearts would be touched If you ♦ould eee her tonight. A11 evening long fie has beon wondering If you will sver come back. She knows that Chet ♦ynd Is dead. You see, she—” Eric started. “She knows? Then—” "It came to her In the dream. And It was so very real as she describes It." Horace arose stiffly. "I do not feel It is right for me to ask you to come with «ne now. but—but—” "We’ll go, Uncle Horace,” said Mary resolutely. She knew that the decision rested with her. Five minutes later, the three of them went forth Into the night, huddled close together to fight the wind with Mary tthe center. The clock In the court use struck the hour of 10. "I will tell you of the dream when we reach the house,” Mr. Blagden had said as they left the porch of the Ver ner cottage. CHAPTER XVIII. 80 still belonged to the blithe, untram melled Rena Van Dykeman of another day, and that now said goodby forever to Its Corinth environment. "And you, too, Eric,” she went on, more calmly. She eyed him fondly, and patted his arm. "You are my son now. I want a son. I need a son. Your uncle needs you.” "I do, Indeed,” spoke up Mr. Blag den, unsteadily. "Now, my dear, don't you think you’d better retire? You are very tired. It has been a hard day for you.” "It was very thoughtful of you, Mary, to take off your hat before I came In,” said Mrs. Blagden Irrelevantly, even as she laid her hand on her husband’s arm. "It made It so easy for me. You will forgive me If I say good night now. Good night, Erie. You will find your rooms Just as you left them. Martha has put out your things—some that you forgot to take away with you. I’ve kept them In my bureau since—Yes, yes, Horace, I am coming. Good night, Mary. I am so gjad you have come back to us, Martna will call you as usual in the morning.” In the doorway, Horace turned to speak to the deeply moved young man and woman. "Will you be good enough to wait here for a little while? I am coming down to close up the house." There was something significant In the way he put It. They were wet and uncom fortable, yet they would not have thought of going upstairs before their uncle laid bare the conditions which had sent him out Into the night so bravely. The change In Horace’s nature was most strikingly Illustrated by the next remark that fell from his lips. "Oh, dear me, I almost forgot that you are wet and cold. Come upstairs to your rooms. Martha will get out dry stockings and slippers for you. And she shall make mustard baths for your feet before you go to bed. And hot lemonades,” When the Mldthornes came down stairs later on, after changing a part of their apparel, they were amazed to find Horace Blagden on his knees before the fireplace, clumsily starting a fire In the grate. His lack of experience was evident, his embarrassment undis guised. Eric went to his assistance. Presently they were seated before the snapping coals. “Your aunt’s dream,” said Mr. Blag den, "was a most distressing one. It was so real that she can’t get It out of her mind that we are to hear bad news of Chetwynd. You see, I mention Ills name once more. I do so because I am confident that he Is not In the land of the living, Adam Carr to the contrary. Not a day passes that I do not expect to hear through that excel lent bloodhound that my son has come to his death In some far off land and that the chase has ended.” "But Aunt Rena’s dream, please.” said Mary, with a quick glance at Eric's twitching face. Horace moistened his dry lips with his tongue. "She was taking her nap this afternoon, as usual. A vision came to her. It was more than a dream. In this vision there appeared a series of vast cliffs and precipices, reaching so high In the sky that all the world seemed to lie below them. Far be low, at the base of these dreadful cliffs, was the sea—miles and miles below, she declares. The breakers came rush ing up In the shape of gigantic hands and arms, all of them reaching upward In the effort to clamber to the top of the sheer walls of stone that touched the sky. "She came out upon the loftiest of all these cliffs and sat down to rest, with her tired feet hanging over the ledge. The great arms and writhing fingers redoubled their efforts. They climber higher and higher, but they could not reach her feet. A huge, black-lipped mouth opened and closed, showing Its teeth, In the sea below' —a vast maw that craved her us with an appetite that knew no pity. As she sat there, looking wearily about, al most at the gates of heaven, another figure appeared on the cliff not far away. It was Chetwynd. He ap proached to the very edge, and stood looking out over space, his hands on a flimsy railing she had not noticed before. She cried out to him and would have risen to go to him but for that strange paralysis that one ex periences In dreams." He paused to clear his throat. Eric drew a long, deep breath and relaxed his grip on the arm of the chair. “Then she tried to call out to him, but no sound above a whisper could she force from her lips. Another fig ure came creeping up from behind, the figure of a man whose face she could not see. This man stole upon Chet wynd and struck him a violent blow, sending him through the rail and over the—" Eric leaped to his feet, a cry of hor ror on his lips. Then, to the utter amazement of his uncle, he rushed from the room. Mr. Blagden turned to Mary In great distress. "Dear me,” he said; "dear me I What have I said? I—where are you going Mary?" "To Eric,” she cried In great agita tion. A moment later, Horace Blak den sat alone In his library, staring at the door, vastly perplexed, and with a great apprehension growing up in his heart. He heard the rush of swift footsteps In the hall upstairs, the slamming of a door, and then no other sound save the merry cracale of the coals. Two days went slowly by. They brought forth on early apology from Eric for his rude behavior in the li brary, but no explanation. He had decided to watt for the lest word-from Adam Carr. Not that he lacked the courage or the will to deliver his secret, but that newly made conditions rals-d obstacles that could not be surmount ed. First of all. the pathetic devo tion of his uncle and aunt. They called him their son. Then, the Innate gen tleness of his own nature, whlcfi shrank from the desire to rob them of their new estate—a strange wealth of con tentment and resignation. To tell them now would be to destroy the only Joy left In life for them. Again the cu rious sense of loyalty to Adam Carr. He lost no time In looking up John Payson, to whom an explanation was due, and a plea for Mary's sake. Pay son heard him through—a nervous, disconnected statement It was—and considerately assured him that he not only understood the situation, but that he would not have had Mary do other wise than she had done. "Tell her, Eric," he said, "that I lovo her more than ever. I can wait until she Is ready to send for me. Brace up, old fellow. I understand." But, though he said It fairly enough, he did not understand. He was sorely There was a vague, almost shadowy tight In the parlor windows. A reflect ed glow from the dim old porch lamp that hung above the front steps of the *1gtant's castle" threw the curtained windows Into dull relief. As the hurrying trio came up the gravel walk, their gaze was centered on one of these windows, held by a common anxiety. Not one, but all of them knew that a long used chair stood close beside this particular window. They were nearing the steps when one of the rigid curtains moved ever mo slightly, and yet distinctly. It parted from Its mate an Inch or two and then became motionless once more. The effect was weird, uncanny, almost ghostly. Someone sat behind this cur tain watching their approach; an un seen hand held the curtains apart; a pair of wistful eyes peered out of the loneliness that lay In the room behind. Horace Blagden sighed audibly. Once Inside the door, he checked his companions with a whispered word and the raising of a finger to his lips. They stood there for a moment, listening. "Go Into the library,” said he, In a lowered voice. "I think your aunt Is In the parlor." He crossed the hall and softly opened the door, pausing an Instant before en tering. As the door closed behind him. Brie and Mary turned toward the li brary, where a light gleamed through the transom. "You will not tell them tonight?” wblapered Mary, clutching his arm. "No," he replied without hesitation. "I haven’t the heart. Why, he seems happy—actually happy." They waited In the old, familiar room, curiously awed by Its Blagd.enesque primness after their own rather uncon ventional disorder. Mary removed her hat and laid It on the table with her gossamer and gloves. It was an ln eplred act on her part, as subsequent events proved. Mr. Blagden came In a few minutes later, holding open the door that his wife might pass before him. There was a contented smile on his thin lips. “There, my dear," he said gently, waving his hand in the direction of the two Mldthornes; “I am sure you can’t call those fine flesh and blood creatures dream fancies. They are very real, and Won’t disappear before morning, as you aajr." To Eric and Mary: “Your aunt ta positive she is only dreaming you an here.” A wavering, uncertain smile appeared on Mrs. Blagden’s face. She advanced, Voiding out her hands, almost shyly. The young people sprang forward, tech grasping a slim white hand. Mary Impulsively threw an arm about her aunt’s shoulders and drew the thin, shrinking figure close to her strong, oager body. Then she kissed the tremulous lips of the woman who had done nothing In her life but hurt her. "Bhe’s come to stay, Aunt Rena," said Eric. Mrs. Blagden withdrew her hand from Eric's and slowly, gently passed It over the cheek of the girl. Her eyes « ere soft and Imploring. "Oh. my dear, dear Mary,” she mur tnured. "are you quite sure that you meant to kiss me like that? Do you really mean to-" Mary kissed her again. ”1 do mean It Aunt Rena, I do mean It.” T have been very unkind, very un >ust to you,” said Mrs. Blagden, still •eart hing the girl’s face with wonder ing eyes. “I can’t forget. Aunt Rena,” said I’ary. quite simply. She did not com fclt the error of trying to appear de Ctnltely reconciled. am sorry f«fr all that I may have done, my dear,” said her aunt humbly. “I can say no more. But.—but I do .•re you! I do want you!” It was a wall from the very bottom M a hungry, unhappy soul—a soul that puzzled. : No word came from Adam Carr. j Sunday was at hand. Tho Satur day Courier had announced the pro gram for the services at the First Con- ; gregatlonal church. There was to be j a solo In the morning by the popular Miss Smith, with flute and ’cello ob ligato. More wonderful still, a ’cello solo during the "collection" by the fa mous Professor Parker, of Boston. In the evening a song service, with a short sermon by the minister, the Rev. Mr. King. And all this In the First Congrega tional church of Corinth. Horace Blag den's church! . At 10:30 o'clock Mr. Blagdon put on his tall hat, took up his gold headed cane and announced to the two Mid thornes that it was time to be off to church. Mrs. Biagden was not up to it, so they were leaving her behind. | "The bell hasn’t rung yet, Uncle Horace," observed Eric, who had been waiting for the resounding peals of that well known summoner of the Faithful. , "Mr. King’s orders, my dear boy," ; said Horace as calmly as If the sllenc- i Ing of that venerable and never fall- ' Ing bell was the most trivial thing In the world. He pondered a moment and 1 then added, with a queer little shake j of his head: "Mr. King Is really a hu- : man sort of a Christian. A sensible one, I might say. Come along, please. I We can't afford to be late after what j He said at the board meeting last week.” I He seemed nervous and quite an*- > lous to be oflt. "You see, my dears, there’s a very 1 sick child across the street from the l phurch. Abscesses in the ears, I under- I stand. They’ve got tan bark along the pntlre block. Bast week i attended to j Having the heavy teaming stopped on ; that part of the street. The chlld’e ' mother Informed Mr. King that the 1 Frightful clanging of the church bell | ilmost set the little girl wild with pain. I 3o”—here he took a long breath—"Mr. • King promised her that—er, ahem—It should not ring until the little sufferer was quite fully recovered. Most un isual. Most extraordinary. The bell Hasn’t missed a service, morning or light, In 60 years.” "Good for Mr. King,” cried Mary. 'He is the right kind of a Christian. ! [ don’t see why the foolish old thing las to ring, anyway." Mr. Biagden looked hurt. "Really, Mary, that Isn’t Just the proper—” He paught himself up with one of his rare smiles, albeit was rather ft shame faced sffort. "Mr. King did not put It in Just :hat way, my dear, but he was quite 'onvlnclng and—er, ahem—very posl ;lve. He said that If the members of :he First Congregational church did lot know the hours for service. It was llgh time they were learning them. It sn’t necessary to ring a bell In order :o vet the people to the theater on time, ’aid he, so why bring them to church n that way. Really, he was quite em phatic about It. Somehow, we agreed with him. I believe it Is his intention o make note of the tardy ones today. For—er, ahem—missionary purposes, as le put It to the board.” Mr. Biagden looked at his watch, and iccelerated his speed quite noticeably. Eric and Mary could scarcely credit heir senses. Truly, a wonderful thing md happened In Corinth. A new gos pel had supplanted the old. A rock pound, half-dead spirituality had been shaken Into life by a process of en lghtenment that was postlvely be wildering. An up to date minister, with an up to date gospel, had com pletely upset the religious calculations pf 160 years, and Corinth was sur viving the shock! nine couia noi neip wondering how long It would be before one of the ireat, progressive and covetous met ropolitan congregations would extend a. call to this amazing Mr. King—and get him at a vastly increased salary, with perhaps a pension for his wife when he became too old to preach, or It got tired of him and wanted a change. The new Congregationalism had at last forced Its way Into Corinth. It bad taken many years. I venture the iplnlon that the First Congregational church did more toward proving the blindness of faith when It called Mr. King than anything that has been done In the name or the history of religion. iV congregation so settled and stead fast In Its ways could not have ac complished a transition so complete as ; his except by accident. Mr. King -was truly an accident, quite as much of an iccldent as the stroke of. lightning which never strikes twice in the same place. If anyone had told the trustees ;n advance that he was going to tweak tradition's nose until It slipped entirely Jut of Joint, those excellent gentlemen, Horace Blagden Included, would have preserved the tenets of the church so rigorously that the name of Mr. Per clval King would never have been beard In Corinth. But they took him jn faith, and they had been taking blm on faith ever since, without & murmur of dissent. He was the modern Congregational - Ist (God bless him.'), and as strong as Samson when it came to shattering pillars. The old church fell down ibout their heads, without hurting myone, and a new one went up in its place so swiftly that before the coft» grcgatlon knew what It was abeut It was reformed, rejuvenated, human ized. He was giving it something to think about, something to enjoy, some thing to grasp. (Continued next week.) Concerning Cotton. From the Chicago Journal. Word comes from Europe that there Is likely to be a decided rise In the price of j long-flbered cotton. It Is used for making wings of aeroplanes and the tires of auto mobiles—articles which are being built and worn out at quite unprecedented rate. The best cotton for these purposes Is said to be the American sea Island variety, but the supply of this Is small. Both In length and strength of liber It stands at the head, but the available eupply Is small. Next comes the Egyptian cotton, but the demand for that tri peaceful ln Justry Is very great, and the crop Is said to be unsatisfactory. The only source of supply remaining Is a variety of upland American cotton grown In the well wat. ered bends of the Mississippi river, and known locally as ''benders.’' It looks as though our southern plant ers had better take stock of the cotton situation. They have had a practical mon opoly of the world’s main clothing and Bber material for more than a century, but there are many signs that the "sure thing” period of cotton planting la about over. It le nigh time to see If the qual ity as well as yield of the American crop tannot be Improved before other lands or other materials drive us from our present position of supremacy. A Wedding Washed Off. From Tld Bits. A short time ago a servant living tn Yorkshire gave notice to leave her sit uation, informing her mistress that she was about to be married. As the time drew near for leaving, she addressed her mistress thus: "Please, mum, have you got a girl ret?" "No, Bridget. Why do you ask?" "Because. If you haven’t, I should ike to Btay.” “Why, I thought you were going to parry the sweep!" "Oh, yes, mum," replied Bridget, Hesitatingly. "But when I saw' him ifter ’Is face was washed I felt I could lot love ’Ira." - . ^ -- Queen Mary of England prefers "hlna tea and nearly always drinks It w ken she cask obtain It. THE GIANT CASTLE. /Copyright, 1916, by the McClure News paper Syndicate.) Once upon a time a very poor couple lived In a tiny cottage on the side of a big lake. High above tbelr heads towered a mountain whose top way capped with clouds. They had only one child, a hoy named Hans, who was very simple In his ways, but had a lot of sense. He was very observant of all that went on about him and was not a bit stupid like peo ple thought. Times grew very hard. Hens’ cloth ing was patched so much that It looked like an old fashioned bed quilt and he had nothing to eat three times a day but gruel. The country about was very rich as far as the soil was concerned, but on the crest of the mountains lived a wicked old giant, who'robbed every one In the surrounding land. At last one day there was no one left In the land but Hans, his father, who was 111, and his mother, for all the rest had gone to another land. Things looked so bad that Hans said he was going up the mountain and see what he could do to get rid of the giant. "Oh, son,” cried the mother, throwing her arms about the boy, "do not leave us—we will never see you again. If you go.” “If something Is not done soon,” re plied Hans, “we will all starve. I might as well get killed trying to better mat ters as stay here to die for need of food.” So Hans looked about for something to take with him. He could find noth ing except a bucket of tar and an old rope on the shelf In a shed. “I will take these with me,” he told his mother, "and cut a stout stick on my way up.” Bo with the bucket of tar and the rope Hans climbed up and up and up, till he looked to his mother watching below like a fly against the side of the huge mountain. By night he was In the yard of a castle built of huge green stones. Noth ing of the giant could be seen. "I will sit in this tree which hangs right over the porch,” said Hans to himself. Bo Into the tree he climbed and fixed himself comfortably In the branches. Presently he fell the earth tremble and a huge form came scram bling up the mountain. The giant was very tall, but his head was small and his face terribly ugly. In he went to supper, and H&ns could see him devouring meat by the 100 pounds and broad by the dozen loaves. Then he went out on the porch to take a nap In the moonlight It made Hans hungry to see the good things on the table, for he had eaten nothing since morning. So he crept down and went Into the big hall. Here he ate all he wished, then steppel light ly out onto the porch. There was no one around but the sleeping giant, who snored like a bel lowing buffalo. Put down underneath the castle Hans could hear fa'lht sounds as If of people moving about. The giant sat In a big chair, his head hanging forward on his brtfcst and his arms dropping by hts side. He was so sound asleep that the boy walking about did not disturb him at all. Hans remembered his rope and tar pot, so he took the rope and made a large noose, which he slipped over the giant’s head, tlfen tied the end to a strong tree. Climbing up on the railing of the porch, Hans turned the pot upside down, and Its black, sticky contents streamed down over the giant’s face. It ran down his forehead, over his nose and into his mouth, even closing his eyes so he could not open them. Start ing up from his seat In anger, he vainly TVS* Gf/UYT-Atr J tried to see, but could not do so and when he struggled to rise It only tight ened the rope, so that he fell choking to the floor. Hans saw a bunch of keys jingling at the giant’s waist, and took them. Over the castle he ran, opening doors, till at last he came to the cellar—here he saw many noble ladles and knights In chains, bo It was but a few moments before all In the castle were free. When they crowded up on the porch they found the wicked giant dead. Hans told the people that they were free to go home. Then some of them led him to a big room, which was full of gold and jewels the giant had stolen. This they divided Into equal parts, only they gave Hans three shares for saving them, and. by the time the moon rose, all were tramping safely down the mountain to their homes. At dawn Hans reached the cottage with the news that the giant was dead, and bringing his bucketful of gems, which made the family rich and com fortable all the rest of their lives. In Behalf of a Humble Friend. From the Dally Oklahomlan. Our meek and lowly friend, the great American cheese, blda fair to come Into its royal own. Of course there are oth er kinds of cheese, but the others aro higher priced and, at that, no whit better than the genus Americanus cheese. Eminent authorities of food products have of late mobilized In favor of cheese. They are claiming that it not only Is a most satisfactory substitute for meat, but that among Its Ingredi ents are certain bacteriological forma tions which are of Incalculable benefit to healthfulness. Cheese Is good to eat We have all been aware of that since time Immemo rial, but few of us have ever taken time to think anything about Its wholesome ness. It Is considerably cheaper than meat and a first aid to a reduced cost of living. Among the working classes of other countries cheese Is a staple diet Habit uating ourselves to its dally use Is all that Is necessary. No "Smoke of Battle.” From Popular Mechanic*. One of the marked features of the European conflict that distinguishes It from the wars of the past Is the absenoe of smoke on the Bring linos. Owing to the use of smokeless powder, no smoke It made when a rifle Is discharged, while the heaviest artillery throws off nothing more than a thin mist that is Invisible 100 yards away and disappears within a few seconds after the gun la fired. Only when shrapnel or a shell explodes In the enemy's lines Is that anything visible In the way of smoke, the whole purpose being to conceal the position of the guns throwing the projectiles while making the points where the projecttlee explode clear ly visible. The expression, "the smoke of battle," so faithfully descriptive of the wars of the past, has littlk meaning when applied to a modern war. STOP MBK PEN Many Gentle Distractions in Summer’s Garden. Some Reasons Why It Is Difficult to Work Out of Doors—Observation of the Birds One of the Greatest. In summer I write every morning In a summer house at the extreme rear of my garden—a house which is, in reality, a cow shed converted by Virginia creepers, side trellises, great openings sawed in all four sides and a small plaster cast of a section of the Parthenon frieze, painted with white enamel paint to resist the rain. But I find it difficult to work out of doors, even in the summer. There are so many distractions. I am disturbed incessantly by the tiny clamors of lit tle things, making their sweet, insidi ous appeal for attention. There is, for instance—or, rather, there has been—a chick-a-dee’s nest on my summer house, in a box tacked there to attract the wrens. All my life I have desired to,have a chick-a dee’s nest under observation, and this year my wish was granted. Every morning while Mrs. Chick-a-dee was sitting on her eggs I saluted her when I came down to work. Then, after I had settled down, and had just got a paragraph well under way, Mr. Chick-a-dee would appear with a worm or bug in his mouth to feed her, and I would have to lay down my pen to watch him. First he would perch on a twig twenty or thir ty feet away and, without dropping the food from his mouth, say "chick-a dee’’ two or three times softly—a pret ty, wiry, tinkling sound. He never on any occasion added the remaining “dee-dee-dees” of the familiar call. After repeating his announcement he would then fly to a strip of the trellis, beside the bird box, and sitting there once more give his wiry little “chick a-dee.” Then he would suddenly give a hop to the perch below the hole in the box, transfer the food to the wait ing bill of his wife, who would have her head out ready, and depart. Another disturber of my labors is a bluebird whose family Inhabits a box in my neighbor’s yard, but who prefers to hunt in mine. I can never resist watching the flash of his blue wings over the flower beds. Still an other disturber is a Baltimore oriole. Ho feeds in the orchard, swallowing down a bug or caterpillar and then fairly dancing on a spray while he emits a musical grace after meat. Sometimes a yellow butterfly in vades my privacy, fluttering across 7t my vision to attract attention, and then winging in circles over the potato field or the flower beds. I watch it in its flight. When I look back at my paper an ant is crawling over it. The ant makes me think of Jpy young apple trees set out this spring, for the ants crawl up young apple trees and .evi dently devour the green aphis on the leaves. Have my new trees any aphis? I must get up and investigate. s Yes, they have. I must get the hose ' and spray them off. Back at last at my table I am free to resume my work, and another para graph gets completed. Then I hear a meadow lark or perhaps a wood thrush and, arrested by the sound, pause to listen, and my ear catches clearly the various noises of the sum mer day, which so often we hear with out hearing, and would only be aware of if they stopped altogether. To sink back and just listen—to feel the touch of the breeze on your cheek, to watch the great, lazy, beautiful white cloud, to smell the warm scents of the garden—that is better than work ing!—Walter Prichard Eaton in the Philadelphia Evening Ledger. Passing of the Oil Lamp. The coal oil lamp business has fallen into the sere and yellow leaf and with but small chance of ever coming back, the New York Times re marks. The comparatively few styles and kinds that still sell are cheap glass lamps with corresponding shades and burners, such as yet find a place in the lonely, isolated farmhouse. Scarce a town now so small and unprogres sive in the West and South that has not its electric light plant, sometimes privately owned, more often a public utility. So, too, a growing number of farm houses tap the nearest interurban trolley wire or draw their illumina tion from the neighboring town. So the sale of electric light fixtures has more than made up the loss in the coal oil lamp business. Watts and amperes and volts are household words to those retail deal ers who once knew only of wicks, burners and shades. Lanterns are sharing the fate of lamps, for flash lights are spelling the disuse of the ancient “lanthorn” that goes back to medieval times. Tired of Waiting. "Of course the war can’t last for ever,” said the optimist. “Of course not,” asserted the pes simist, "but, confound it, neither can we!” Direct sunlight by its chemical ef fects disintegrates the backing of mir- ^ rors in a comparatively short time. * Surnames were not used in England before the conquest. h I ■— At Less Cost— There’s more nutritive value that the system will absorb in Grape-Nuts than in either meat or bread. A remarkable fact. Weight for weight, a package of Grape-Nuts sup plies one-third more nourishment than a roast of beef and*at about half the cost. A roast of beef is about twenty per cent waste and there is a shrinkage in cook ing. Grape-Nuts comes ready cooked—and not a crumb need be wasted. Think it over! Then there’s bread—white bread lacks certain ele ments essential to building brain and body. Why? Because in milling white flour, four-fifths of the precious mineral content (all important for health and life) is thrown out with the brancoat of wheat, to make the flour look white and pretty. Grape-Nuts FOOD not only supplies all the brain- and bone-building, nerve and muscle-making phosphates of the wheat, but all the rich nutriment of malted barley. Besides, Grape-Nuts is easily digested—generally in about an hour—white bread and beef require about 2\ hours. Grape-Nuts comes in germ-proof, moisture-proof packages—-ready to serve with cream or milk—a de licious ration, economical and highly nourishing. “There’s a Reason” Sold by Grocers everywhere. ^ }]